


The Biting Cold

by longrandomword



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Detention, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, M/M, Slow Build, Snarry-A-Thon Challenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 06:14:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23346760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longrandomword/pseuds/longrandomword
Summary: A detention with Severus Snape goes horribly wrong and the potion's master's perceptions about the Potter boy are about to be irrevocably changed."He turned the boy, pushing Potter's shoulder roughly into the wall, and Potter tilted his head back, his gaze unfocused as he looked through his snow-frosted lashes in the direction of Severus’s chest.“Sorry p-fessor” he slurred, he raised his arm, barely reaching the level of his navel, and let it fall limp against his side. “‘m heavy.” his half-lidded-gaze a clear indication of his exhaustion.That's when Severus saw his lips - they were blue tinged. He felt Potter's cheek, and it was icy. But perhaps the most concerning observation was that his teeth weren't chattering -- Potter wasn't shivering..."
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 48
Kudos: 373
Collections: Abused Harry, Best of Snarry, Favorite HP Snarry Fiction, Harry and Severus, Harry/severus





	1. You'll catch your death

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you reading "Dolor Retractatur", I promise it has not been abandoned. It's in the process of being re-hauled, and then a wild plot bunny appeared that I had to chase down. 
> 
> Secondly: This fic is set in Harry's 5th year, just after Christmas holidays. I know Harry never goes home during Christmas, but for the sake of the fic, he has.

Severus had tried for years to get the Potter brat to rise to his bait. Potter was obstinate, and slow, and disrespectful, but it was surprisingly difficult to pin him down. 

Albus expected just cause for assigning detentions, and while Potter's actions sometimes warranted point loss, as yet, he hadn't earned himself detention from Severus.  
Severus had found other means of punishment, but they seemed ineffective. Severus doled out vitriolic, sharp-tongued lashings whenever the desire struck him, but Potter seemed immune. He'd even taken to insulting the brat’s father, and all he got for that, was a tensing of Potter's shoulders, or a clenching of his fists, but then Potter would nod, and say: “Alright sir.”

Potter was brilliant at feigning deference and politeness but Severus saw right through his facade. Potter would almost never look at Severus when speaking, or being spoken to. He'd look at his peers, and at the other professors, so it was clear that the boy was singling him out as the target of his disrespect.  
Potter slacked off of homework assignments. He'd do just enough so that it was appropriate to hand in, but his writing and spelling was atrocious, and his work ethic, even more so. 

Then there was the stealing. It had started in the brats second year when he'd stolen ingredients for polyjuice potion. Of course, Severus could never prove it, but he knew it was him.  
When Potter had stolen gillyweed, he'd veritably dangled the evidence before Severus’ eyes, by using the potions ingredient in the Triwizard Tournament. But as Severus had not caught Potter in the act, and he had little proof, Albus refused to allow him to call the insufferable Gryffindor out. 

It was therefore one of the brighter moments in his admittedly miserable life when he made a circuit of the class, collecting the fifth year’s Christmas holiday homework, and Potter had no homework to give.  
Severus held out his hand expectantly. Potter looked at a point over Severus’s shoulder and spoke - his tone polite - but Severus did not miss the slight quaver in his voice. “I haven't done it, sir.”  
“You haven't done it?” Severus repeated silkily, dangerously.  
“No, sir.”  
“Detention, Potter. I expect to see you outside my office at 7pm, sharp. ”  
Potters head bobbed in assent, and he started working on his potion. Severus didn't miss the light trembling of the boy's limbs. 

Potter was nervous. Severus turned towards his desk to hide the slight smirk curling his lips. 

XXX 

Harry's palms were clammy with nerves. This was his first detention alone with Snape. He had previously been given detention by McGonagall or Filch for infractions he'd committed with Ron or Hermione, and had had particularly horrendous detentions alone with Umbridge. He found himself wondering what torture the Professor had dreamt up for him as he shifted uneasily from foot to foot outside the potion master's rooms. He stole a glance at his watch, and saw his clock tick over to seven. He wiped his sweaty hands on his pants, squared his shoulders, and knocked.  
The door was flung open with breaking force, banging against the wall. Harry leapt back in startlement, and found himself grateful that the door opened inwards. 

“Follow me.” the man growled.  
The potions master was in a fouler mood than Harry had ever seen him. Harry followed, his heart thumping wildly. 

Harry practically jogged to keep up with the man's long strides.  
The man wasn't heading towards the dungeons, he was heading up, and Harry found his nervousness increasing exponentially.  
Ron had said Severus made students clean cauldrons, or write lines, and that Harry had little to worry over. Harry had believed him, but now he was less sure. 

Snape had reached the doors of the castle, and stalked through them.  
There was fresh snowfall, that crunched underfoot as Harry hurried after the irate Potion’s master.  
He hadn't put on his winter robes, having assumed he'd be in Severus’s classroom, where a winter coat would be unbearably stuffy, but now he found himself regretting that decision. He wore several layers of Dudley's threadbare sweaters under his school jersey and robes - as he always did during the winter months. That would be enough, surely. 

Severus led him towards one of the greenhouses, and Harry stepped gratefully into the warmth. 

“Due to” Severus spoke the next words through gritted teeth “unforeseen circumstances, I will not be able to observe you for this detention.” he thrust a pair of dragonhide gloves and a shovel at Harry. “As such, you will be harvesting the fruit of the frost wart, needed for the sixth year students next potions assignment. I expect you to have filled this-” he handed Harry a gratifyingly small bucket “by the time I return.” he scowled fiercely at Harry, as though daring him to make a retort. When none was forthcoming, he strode back out of the green house, indicating that Harry should follow. Harry's heart sank- so he would not be safely ensconced in the warmth of the greenhouses after all.  
“You cast the herba revelio spell over a section of ground, and the areas that appear lilac tend to denote the presence of the frost wart.” he demonstrated the spell, then stooped in the snow. He cleared away the snow in the area the spell had lit, to reveal an ugly,warty textured, purple leafed plant, with tiny, ice blue berries that he proceeded to pluck, and place in the bucket. “You are not to melt the snow, or warm the berries. It will render them entirely useless. You will place them in the bucket as soon as they are picked, as the bucket is charmed to keep them at the optimal temperature. Do I make myself clear?”  
“Yes sir.” Harry nodded his head, his breath fogging the air, a shudder at the cold passing through him, making his teeth chatter. 

Severus turned on his heel, and trudged back towards the castle, his robes billowing behind him. 

Harry got to work, shifting the snow aside gently, with his shovel.  
Each plant had, at most, around 12 berries. They were about the size of the nail on Harry's smallest finger, and he could already tell that despite the buckets small size, it would take ages to fill.  
The dragon hide gloves were a little too large and clunky, which made plucking the berries that much more challenging. 

He started out by squatting in the snow, but after about 20 minutes, his legs were in agony, so he took to kneeling.  
The bucket wasn't even a tenth of the way full yet. 

The sky had rapidly darkened, and Harry had conjured Hermione’s bluebell flames, to bob behind him and light his way. 

He wished he'd done his homework on the train but he hadn't been able to keep his eyes open on rid back to Hogwarts. He could have avoided this whole mess if he'd just got it finished.  
Christmas holidays were usually spent at the castle, but this year, Harry had been sent to the Dursley’s, for the wards were being renewed at Hogwarts, and Ron had gone off to Romania with his family to visit Charlie. 

Needless to say, his aunt and uncle weren't pleased.  
The holidays had been worse than the summers. Vernon was almost perpetually in a towering temper because he'd had “the freak” foisted on him over Christmas too - as if the summers weren't bad enough, he'd made sure to exclaim loudly whenever Harry was in earshot. 

Harry had left Hedwig at school, fearful of what his uncle might do to her, and he found himself grateful, for everything he brought home; his school books, his homework, his stationary, his trunk with his wand, his broom, his clothing - everything was locked in the cupboard under the stairs. 

He'd even resorted to picking the lock in his desperation to get some work done, but he'd been caught, and doing his homework wasn't worth the added chores, or the extended withholding of food, and it certainly wasn't worth the lashing he got. 

His knees and shins were now damp through his robes and his trousers, from kneeling on the snow.  
His hands were so cold inside the gloves that they ached, which rendered them mostly useless. 

If he had any hope of filling the bucket he'd have to move faster.  
His stomach grumbled - strange for he had wolfed down a plate of food before leaving for detention. 

He made to stand, to move to the next patch of lilac-lit snow, and swayed, struck suddenly dizzy by the movement. 

When the bucket was close to halfway filled, the pain in his hands had been replaced by numbness. He had to remove his gloves to pluck the ice cold berries, for he could not feel anything through the thick dragonhide.  
He looked longingly over his shoulder at the greenhouses, which he knew would be warm. 

He could feel his heart acutely, for it hammered against his rib cage. His breaths came out in clouded, rapid puffs, and he was shivering violently.

His limbs weren't cooperating. His joints were stiff. He wasn't working productively, mostly because of the repressive cold so, glancing wearily over his shoulder, he ducked into one of the greenhouses. He rubbed warmth back into his numb hands, and cast a warming charm on his robes, which started to steam. When he stepped out once more into the grounds he felt far more comfortable.  
Periodically, he would warm his robes to ward off the biting cold - but he did not dare return to the greenhouses for fear that the Professor would return, only to find him not working.

The bucket was filling up slowly, the ice-blue berries emitting an eerie glow.  
Snow began to fall, and Harry noticed that his warming charms had faded. He renewed them, but the spell wasn't as noticeable. Perhaps he had just acclimatised to his robe’s spelled warmth. 

Snowflakes had begun to drift lazily downwards, alighting on his mop of messy black hair. The snow melted against his scalp, and after an indeterminable length of time, icy rivulets of water trailed their way down his neck, and past his collar. 

His shivering could no longer be abated by his warming charms, and he felt oddly weak and woozy.  
He reached for the bucket, with a handful of berries, but stumbled, knocking over the bucket. 

Berries cascaded over the blanket of fresh snow, and Harry scrambled to return them to the bucket, throwing glances back at the castle, certain that Professor Snape would come stalking out of the castle at any moment.  
The cold mattered little. If he didn't get this done, he'd be assigned a second detention, and he certainly couldn't afford that. 

XXX

Severus was furious. He finally had an irrefutable reason to punish the spawn of James Potter, and Albus had called him into an emergency Order meeting. His week was full as it was, so the infernal brat’s detention couldn't be rescheduled.  
Severus had resorted to having the boy work on one of his least favourite jobs. 

He typically used a charm to harvest the berries, rather than plucking them by hand, but the task was still a tedious one. He was essentially stunning two pixies with one hex: Potter was being punished, and Severus had one less duty to work on tomorrow night. 

The order meeting was deathly boring, for all of the reports being made were old news for Severus. Most were, in fact, his own intel. Why he had to be here, he would never understand.  
In his head, he started to list off ingredients in his stores alphabetically, just to stave off sleep. 

XXX

Harry was struggling to stay awake. His eyelids drooped, and he had to consciously force them to remain open, crouched as he was in the snow. 

He kept on losing track of what he was doing. At one point, he'd misplaced his gloves, only to find them in the now close to full bucket. Upon closer inspection, he found a handful of purple, warty leaves in the bucket.  
Why was he doing this again?

His warming charms were no longer working, and his light source would flicker every so often.  
He wasn't shivering as much anymore, so perhaps he wasn't that cold. 

He just had to fill the bucket. The words circled around his fogged brain like a mantra. “Just fill the bucket. Just fill the bucket.” 

He started shoveling into the bucket, and at a point, realised that he was shoveling snow, rather than frost wart berries.  
He shook his head, as though to rid the heavy fog that pervaded his thoughts, and scooped the snow out of the bucket with his numb-fingered-hands. 

Behind him, the bluebell flames flickered and died. 

XXX

When the meeting was eventually adjourned, Severus floo’d back to the castle. Upon his arrival, he cast a tempus, and to his surprise, saw that almost three hours had elapsed since he had left Potter to his task. 

He strode through the castle, tired and in a foul mood, towards the front doors. 

When he left the castle, snow was falling in great, swirling masses, the wind whistling through the grounds.  
He pulled his voluminous robes more snugly around himself, and lit his wand. 

The first thing that he noticed was that Potter was nowhere to be seen. The boy had to be using a spell to light his way, but the only spell illuminating the grounds was Severus’s own. 

The second thing that he noticed was the wide radius of neatly dug holes - Potter had certainly used his time well. 

He spun slowly, scanning with his surroundings. Potter wasn't there. He had abandoned his detention. He was probably safely ensconced in bed. He moved towards the greenhouses, just in case Potter had gone off to take a break. 

XXX 

Harry jerked his head, trying to shake himself awake.  
He was cold - really cold, but his primary concern was the darkness that encased him. The pitch was oppressive and Harry registered vaguely that he didn't like that.  
He was holding a stick in his hand, he could feel that. A wand. That's what it was.  
Spell, spell; what was the spell? His brain wasn't cooperating.  
“Light.” he spoke feebly into the night. “Need light.” he pleaded weakly into the night, and nothing happened.  
“Lumos.” that was it, he was sure of it.  
He said it again, this time with more conviction, and the light flickered to life.  
He stared at his lit wand tip in grateful surprise, and then, it sputtered and died. 

XXX 

Severus was about to turn back to the castle, rage and vindication alight within him, for the brat was no longer here, when out of the corner of his eye, he saw a light flare in the darkness. 

He turned towards its source and, as he moved hurriedly towards it, the light was snuffed. 

“Potter?” he called out, to no response. 

His fast walk transformed into a run, and then he saw the boy, huddled in the snow, trying to scoop away at the ground, the bucket nestled in the frosted blanket behind him. “S-sorry.” the boy stuttered, clearly nervous, and tried to dig faster.

“Up!” he told the boy.  
“Into the castle, now!” the boy jerked in response to his harsh tone, and heaved himself to his feet with heavy limbs. “Noh-done Pr-fessor.” 

“Move!” Severus responded irritably. 

Potter shuffled forward, pressing a surprisingly full bucket into Severus’s hands. Severus hadn't expected him to get nearly this far. He'd hoped to use the boy's inability to complete the task to justify another detention next week. 

Potter following behind him, Severus made his way back towards the castle.

Severus kept glancing back to see if Potter was following.  
Concern niggled at Severus for surely the boy must be freezing, but he swept the thought aside. The boy was a wizard, after all. He should know how to keep himself warm. 

Potter was moving too slowly, so, turning back, Severus took him by his elbow with his own thickly gloved hand, and steered him towards the castle. 

The boy kept stumbling, and falling, mumbling apologies. Severus hauled him to his feet every time he fell, and pushed him onward. 

They finally came into the warm light of the castle.  
Potter stumbled in, his shoulders hunched and tense. 

Severus released him. Now that Potter didn't have a shin-deep snow to wade through, he should be able to make his way after Severus. 

Severus realised after a time that he couldn't hear Potter, and turned back. Potter's movements lacked coordination. He dragged his feet, and walked in veering lines, frequently straying against the walls, so that his shoulders brushed against stone. 

When he turned back the third time, Potter was standing with his back to Severus, resting his head on the rough stones. 

Severus stalked towards him.  
He turned the boy, pushing Potter's shoulder roughly into the wall, and Potter tilted his head back, his gaze unfocused as he looked through his snow-frosted lashes in the direction of Severus’s chest.  
“Sorry p-fessor” he slurred, he raised his arm, barely reaching the level of his navel, and let it fall limp against his side. “‘m heavy.” his half-lidded-gaze a clear indication of his exhaustion.  
That's when Severus saw his lips - they were blue tinged. He felt Potter's cheek, and it was icy. But perhaps the most concerning observation was that his teeth weren't chattering -- Potter wasn't shivering. 

The boy was freezing, he should be shivering. The body shivers, and the tiny muscle contractions consume energy, and generate heat - he'd remembered learning that in charms, when they'd covered different freezing charms, and their effects. When severe hypothermia sets in, the body tries to preserve energy stores, and shivering stops. 

Fear flooded through Severus. He had to get Potter warm, and fast. The hospital wing was two floors up, and seven corridors in - far too far. The use of the floo system within the castle now required Umbridge or Dumbledore to enable them due to the increased security measures. 

The boy needed medical attention, and the next best choice to the Hospital Wing, were his own extensive potions stores. 

The boy's legs seemed to give in under his weight, and he crumpled. Severus caught him and lowered him slowly to the ground. 

No jarring movements, he reminded himself - that would almost certainly cause Potter's heart to fail as the chilled blood in his extremities would be forced to his core. With purposeful slowness, he shifted Potter's limbs so that the boy was lying with his legs straight, and his arms by his side, Potter unresisting, and his breathing shallow. He cast levicorpus and made for his Chambers, his stride long, but his wand trained carefully level so as not to jostle Potter too much. 

XXX 

He laid Potter, who was abnormally unresponsive, on the couch. His chest barely rose and fell, and Severus found himself placing his hand in front of the boy's mouth, feeling the escaping puffs of air that came after impossibly long intervals of time, just to reassure himself that the boy was alive. 

He tried to cast warming and drying charms on Potter's clothing. The material was stiff, for the water it had absorbed had frozen, and the Spells Severus cast were entirely ineffectual. The idiot had been warming his clothes without drying them.

He pulled open the boys school robes, and school jersey and found the clothes underneath to be equally rigid with frost. The jumper he wore was threadbare and over-large. Severus would never understand muggle fashion. He ripped at the jumper, tearing the thin material in half so that he could remove them without shifting Potter too much. He was barely restraining his nigh on frantic movements. There was another infernal layer of clothing - equally moth eaten and thin. The clothing certainly wasn't designed to keep a chill at bay. This perhaps was the reason for the ridiculous number of layers. Slow down, he told himself. You're a wizard; start acting like one. 

He summoned a thick quilt, casting a warming charm over it, and wrapped Potter in it. While Potter was covered in the quilt, Severus banished what remained of his clothing. The magically heated quilt could do more for the boy than Severus’s own body heat. 

With that done, he made for his potions stores. 

He rummaged through his potions cabinet, to find the large vial he was looking for: the thermal draught. 

Returning to Potter’s side moments later, he poured half of its contents into Potter's mouth, and massaged his throat to help induce a swallow.

Potter needed to regain the energy stores he had lost, so Severus gave him a nutritive potion too. 

Moments after giving Harry the second potion, he began to shudder violently, his shallow breathing becoming audible gasps for air.  
Severus remained next to Potter for he was far from out of the woods.  
Potter kept writhing strangely, but Severus cast the unusual motion aside as a part of the shivering.  
The potions master swept the snow-damp black hair from the boy’s face, and found that he was not warming as he should be, and so he made Potter down the second half of the vial of thermal draught. 

XXX 

Harry had foolishly thought his detention was over, but Snape had given him a potion that made his insides burn. 

Harry writhed off the couch, and trembled from the pain, biting back a scream.  
He'd done as much as he could - really he had. But apparently Professor Snape thought he warranted further punishment. 

When the vial was placed on his lips for the second time, he closed his mouth, lips pressed tightly together.  
The potions master pulled the vial back slightly. Harry, teeth chattering too violently to keep his mouth shut, tried turning his face away to avoid taking another swig of the poison. 

“Come on Potter.” the man spoke, and he almost sounded worried “You have to drink it. It'll make you better.”

His punishment was over then? Either way, Harry knew better than to disobey a direct order from an angry man. Perhaps if he showed how obedient he could be, the man wouldn't actually make him drink the second half, or perhaps he would give Harry the antidote sooner. 

Harry obeyed, opening his mouth to drink, and his heart sank as the contents of the bottle was emptied into his mouth. He swallowed without protest, hoping the man would take it as a gesture of good faith. Please let the man take pity on him. 

The potions master said something about a bathroom and then left the room.  
That's when the pain came. It was worse, far worse than moments before. He writhed off the couch, hands fisting in the blankets.  
He rolled onto his side, so that his face was pressed against the couch back, and allowed a shriek of pain to escape him. 

His back bowed, his limbs spasmed and jerked as he tried to control his agony. 

His veins were full of glass, blood boiling in his veins, pumping searingly throughout his body with every heartbeat. 

He bit into a couch cushion to ineffectually smother his agonised shrieks, his face still pressed towards the back of the chair. He tried to grasp onto the couch, to prevent his limbs from writhing. The cramp of his clenched fist, forced his hand open again. 

XXX 

Severus stared at his weary reflection in the mirror. Having just splashed his face, there was a single drop of water suspended from the tip of his crooked nose. He could almost imagine he'd allowed himself to cry. Almost. 

He could have killed Potter. The thought circled dizzyingly through his mind. He had almost killed Lily’s son. And for what? For petty revenge? 

He dried his face on the hand towel, and forced himself back out of the bathroom.  
The sight that greeted him as he crossed into the lounge, froze him where he stood.  
Potter's back was to him. He was shifting against the couch, moaning.  
For a moment he assumed -- but then Potter rolled onto his back, his spine arched, the light throwing the boy’s face into sharp relief as it turned briefly towards Snape, and the boy let out an agonised shriek. 

XXX

The pain was like nothing he had felt before. He couldn't think, couldn't breath, could do nothing but feel the agony that grated at every nerve fiber.  
Death would be a gift. Please let me die - the thought pulling him continually against his will to his own agonised reality.  
The wave of pain withdrew, and in its wake came a voice. A deep, honey smooth voice that should only ever sound dangerous. “Potter!” The voice was intermittently drowned by the ringing in Harry's ears. “-me what's happening?”  
“- ke up. Tell me what you feel.”

Harry panted into the couch, gritting his teeth so that he didn't cry out. Hands pulled him over and his eyes, wide in suffering, took in the potions master. His muscle spasms contorted his limbs with uncontrollable contractive jerks.  
His failing wrist hit something solid that grunted. Professor Snape. He'd hit Professor Snape! 

The wave of pain abated to more manageable levels. He hugged his arms to his chest to try to stop the jerking, his body tense now more in anticipation of the potions master’s retribution, and less from the pain. 

He no longer cared for his own dignity. Please Merlin let this end. His eyes found Professor Snape's chest, his own chest heaving with panted breaths. He would not meet the man's eyes out of deference. The potions master was violent, and quick to anger like Harry's uncle. Out of some sense of self preservation therefore, Harry had always treated Snape as he would his uncle. 

“Sor-sorry Sir.” he panted. “I'll go back. I'll fi-finish it Sir. Please, make it stop. Please sir, I'm sorry.” he shook from the cold seated deep in his bones, and from the seering agony of the fire that burned his blood. He had to show the man that he meant what he said. Limbs not cooperating enough to allow him to stand, Harry slid himself of the couch and onto the floor, trying his level best to drag himself across the carpet that covered the dungeon stones, towards the door, pulling himself forward on his belly. “Please, sir. I'll finish it.” he tried to assure the man for he knew he wasn't moving fast enough. The ringing in his ears drowned even the sound of his own voice. The quilt he had been wrapped in had slid down passed his now naked shoulder blades. 

His muscles spasmed and he cried out, curling in on himself. 

The fire in his veins flared white hot and he screamed in agony, eyes screwed shut. His spine bowed backwards at such an angle that he was sure it would snap from the tension. 

Harry was a marionette. Pain was his incompetent puppet master, and it jerked him around with no semblance of synchronicity. When the pain drew away once more, it was as though his strings were cut, and he fell limply to the floor. 

Nausea came in pain’s wake and Harry trembled still. He was so, desperately, cold.

His stomach roiling, he felt bile rise in his throat and made to stand. Bathroom. Get to the bathroom, came the hysterical thought. He didn't think the man would take well to him sicking up after everything else Harry had done wrong that day.  
He tried to push himself up from where he lay on the floor, but his arms buckled under his weight. 

He wasn't going to make it.  
“Bathroom” he turned his panicked gaze in the direction of Professor Snape. In opening his mouth, he could stop what came next.  
He leant over the edge of the carpet and vomited - the sick a dark crimson. 

He averted his gaze completely now. He didn't want to see the man's expression. 

If he could just clean his sick, maybe Professor Snape would allow this transgression to pass without further punishment. 

His eyes roving the room frantically, they alighted upon the object his search: his wand. 

With shaking hands, he fumbled for his wand which was just at the edge of his reach on the coffee table. The tips of his fingers found purchase, and he gripped the wand as though it were a lifeline.  
“Scourgify” he croaked.  
Nothing happened.  
A rising spasm made his arm jerk. His wand flew loose and clattered to the floor.  
The muscles in his abdomen cramped so severely that it forced him to bend double. 

In his periphery, he saw Snape cast a cleaning spell. 

“I'm sorry sir. I'll do anything, sir. Anything.” he spoke into the carpet, his forehead pressed to the floor. He tasted the metallic tang of blood in his mouth, and nausea rolled over him once more. “Please make it stop, sir. I'm sorry, I'm very sorry.” his voice came out strained from the pain. Intermittently, his pained pants came out as hisses. 

The black robed man neared him, and Harry bowed his head subserviently at the man's feet, trying to placate him. “Please sir.” grovelling seemed a small price to pay to have this torture end. Blackness edged into his vision. His heart felt as though it were fluttering in his chest - the beats a flurry of uncoordinated contractions. Then the pain came. This time, it wasn't his muscles that spasmed, it was his chest that ached - the pain radiating to his jaw, and down his left arm - and Harry felt certain that this was how he would die.  
He rolled onto his back, limbs going limp as the darkness swallowed him. 

XXX 

“Potter?! Potter! Wake up.” The boy was clearly awake, for he writhed and shifted, and screamed but some desperate part of Severus’s mind could almost imagine the boy to be in the throws of a dreadful nightmare. If nothing else, he had to focus the boy's awareness on him, for currently, the boy's eyes were so glazed over, that Severus wondered if Potter could hear what he was saying at all. He tried to turn the boy over and finally, his voice seemed to permeate.  
“Potter! Tell me what's happening?” His eyes glazed over again, panting in obvious agony.  
Severus waved his hand across the boys visual field to get back his attention  
“Wake up! Tell me what you feel.”

He pulled Harry to face him again. The boy’s eyes and mouth opened in a silent scream. His limbs jerked as though in spasm, and his arm connected hard with Severus’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him, making an “Oof” sound as it left.

The writhing seemed to abate, and Potter clutched his arms to his chest looking unusually fearful.  
His eyes found Severus' chest, and his next words shook Severus to his core. 

“Sor-sorry Sir.” the boy panted, teeth still chattering “I'll go back. I'll fi-finish it Sir. Please, make it stop. Please sir, I'm sorry.”  
The boy thought this was his doing? “It's not me Potter.” these symptoms did not fit with anything Severus knew of hypothermia. He had no idea what was going on, but the boy clearly thought Severus was to blame. The potion then? Was Potter allergic to an ingredient? “For Salazar’s sake, tell me what you feel!” Severus shouted at the boy. Potter did not respond - instead, blatantly panicked, he slid from the couch and started ineffectually belly-crawling towards the door. He dragged himself forward with feeble limbs as though desperate to leave. He seemed to sag in exhaustion after mere moments, and then in a pleading voice leveled at the floor: “Please, sir. I'll finish it.” Finish what? But Severus’s thoughts were far ahead of Potter's incoherent babbling. 

Severus’ brain had switched into hyperdrive: gurdyroot, cinnamon, bundymun secretion, powdered shell of the fire-crab, and an extract of boomslang venom. Those were the ingredients. The symptoms: involuntary muscle movement, pain - likely from spasms, confusion - no - the last was from the hypothermia. Those symptoms did not fit with what Severus knew to be signs of allergy to any one ingredient. The bundymun secretion could cause involuntary muscle twitches - but nothing on the scale of what Potter was exhibiting.

What else, what else? Looking at the boy, he saw the blanket slip to reveal slight bruising on his back - internal haemorrhage then? No, the bruises were erroneous, for they were yellowed with age. He could see each vertebra, clearly defined from the one below it, and the boys scapulae protruded through poorly cushioned flesh. Another distractor, for these signs would take time to appear, and must be unrelated. Something to concern himself with later. 

But the rash… The rash he saw told him something.  
An allergy to a combination of cinnamon and powdered fire crab shell that Severus had never before seen. The combination was supposed to react to the magic within Harry's body - that coursed through his very veins and seated itself in every cell and cavity - to produce warmth.  
Hypothermic wizards had their internal stores of magic depleted, and so the remaining ingredients within the potion were designed to replenish these stores. 

The magically warmed blanket that he'd wrapped the boy in would emit magic in something akin to static, that sparked over the skin. But the cinnamon and powdered fire crab shell had not been reacting with the magical static to produce warmth as it should, but rather to blister and welt the boys skin. If the same reaction were happening within his body, reacting not to static sparks but a roiling sea of magic at the boy’s core, it was no wonder he was in agony. 

It was Potter’s blood curdling shriek that returned Severus’s attention to him. His back bowed backwards, and Harry screamed and screamed, like he might just die from the pain.

Severus was already summoning potions vials from his stores. A numbing draught for the pain, a potion that would briefly suppress Harry’s internal magic, and an anti-allergen tincture. All the while, Potter fitted and writhed, and cried out for the pain to end. 

He fell limp, chest heaving with deep breaths as Severus frantically unstoppered the vials. He saw Potter trying to get up in the periphery of his vision, mumbling words that Severus could not hear.  
“It’s alright Potter. You’re having an allergic reaction. Just lie down.”  
Either Potter could not hear him, or he was too far gone to care. Potter turned to face him, his expression fearful “ Bathroom?” came the fevered request . That was when the boy vomited - emptying his stomach of the earlier potions - but the crimson colour spoke of something far more sinister. It was blood. Potter was vomiting up blood. 

Potter flinched from Severus and Severus, feeling as though he were rooted to the spot by his own suspended horror, watched as the boy reached with trembling hands for his wand, and cast an ineffectual cleaning spell, his wand flying from his grasp when his arm spasmed once more. Severus placed the three now open vials on the coffee table, trying to calm Potter with gentle words, for the boy was clearly afraid.  
Severus cast a cleaning charm of his own, for the mess was clearly distressing Potter. “I need you to drink these.”

Potter spoke as though he had not heard Severus. “I'm sorry sir. I'll do anything, sir. Anything.” came the feeble voice, leveled at the carpet. “Please make it stop, sir. I'm sorry, I'm very sorry.” the boy’s voice came out strained from the pain. Severus could see the blood dribbling viscously down Potter's chin, and as he spoke, he could see that it had coated the inside of his mouth crimson. “It’s an allergic reaction. For Merlin’s sake, stop groveling.” the boy's only response was his pained pants. When Severus came nearer, Potter startled back, clearly afraid, and then bowed his head at Severus’s feet. “Potter, I need you to drink this.” Severus repeated firmly - urgently. “Please sir.” the boy begged in return - not taking in a word of what Severus said. 

His breathing was changing: Potter panted in short laboured breaths. He winced, eyes screwed shut, and then he rolled onto his back, hand clutching his chest. Cold dread spread down Severus’s spine as he watched Potter’s eyes roll into his sockets, his limbs going lax as the boy slipped into unconsciousness. 

Thinking quickly, Severus knew that he couldn't directly cast a spell on Harry to see what was wrong, but he had a sneaking, dreadful suspicion as to the diagnosis - commonly comorbid with hypothermia as it was. A sound amplifying charm - that was not directly cast on Potter - amplified all sounds in the room. The sound of Severus’s own steady, if rapid, heartbeat stood in stark contrast to the stuttering beats of Potter’s.

Potter's heart was failing, and Severus couldn’t use magic to fix it, for the magic would react with the potion.  
He fell to his knees next to Potter, and pushed with steady, firm beats on Potter’s sternum, praying that the mediocre muggle fix would do something - for if this failed, the boy who lived would die.


	2. Remember to Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I cannot believe the response on the first chapter. Thank you to all of you who left your Kudos and comments. 
> 
> There was some confusion in the comments as to what is happening with Harry. Hopefully some things are cleared up in this chapter. Just to give some clarification: in the first chapter, Harry initially showed signs of progressively worsening hypothermia what with all of his confusion, and incoordination. When he reached the state of not shivering, and unconsciousness, that's pretty dangerous hypothermia, and would definitely warrant hospitalization but Severus explained some of those details in his internal monologue. I live in a very hot country, so everything I know about hypothermia comes from textbooks and our mutual friend: google. 
> 
> Then what followed was an allergic reaction to the potion. You'll get some more details on that as Severus works things out. 
> 
> Then Harry was experiencing arrhythmia because he'd been moving about so much from the pain of the potion that the cold blood from his limbs was forced into his core, which sent him into shock. And then his heart failed (which is why he was unconscious) and that's why our favorite potions master was attempting CPR.
> 
> Anyway, ON WITH THE CHAPTER!

After the boy’s heart had begun to beat in an even - if sluggish - cadence once more, Severus had poured the three vials he had collected down the boy's throat, relief coursing through him. The potion he'd given to suppress Potter's magic should prevent Potter's condition from worsening. As for the damage already done, well that remained to be seen. The boy was too out of it to even attempt swallowing without Severus's assistance, so he took to pouring tiny amounts and massaging the boy’s throat to induce a swallow. 

With the boy's pain minimized, he now had the unenviable task of warming Potter, and without magic too. A heated bath was out - it would warm Potter far too rapidly, which would put him at risk of going into shock. It was better by far to gently and slowly rewarm him. Body heat was one option… Severus looked to his unlit grate, noting the chill of his outer chambers. His bedroom would be warmer for the elves would have lit the hearth.

Severus levitated the boy into his bedroom, and laid him on the bed before stripping off his own clothing. He hesitated when unbuttoning his shirt, wanting to maintain his modesty. But the boy's modesty was blasted to hell, and skin to skin contact was far more effective than the alternative. He pulled his shirt off but left on his trousers.Potter's breathing had returned to the unbearably slow cadence, each breath came after an interminable length of time - Severus’s eyes not leaving the boys chest to reassure himself that the boy indeed remained in the land of the living. Potter’s shivering had been non-existent since his heart had failed, and Severus knew the boy was far from out of the woods.

Severus lay next to Potter, pulling the heavy blankets over them both. He eased closer, hissing as his body came into contact with the boy's icy skin. “Come on Potter - don’t you dare die on me now.” He shifted Potter, turning him gently onto his side, and pulling him closer so that they lay chest to chest. Potter was unresponsive. 

Severus shook from the icy press of the boy’s skin, and had to keep forcing his body back into contact with the boy’s as he found himself pulling away without intent. He splayed his hands open on Potter's back, the thick quilt cocooned around them both, attempting to impart as much warmth as possible. 

When Potter finally began to shiver once more, Severus found his icy terror recede ever so slightly. Moments later, Potter began to stir, his eyelids fluttering  
"It's s-so cold." the boy shuddered in Severus' arms. "Please uncle." the boy croaked "Please can I come inside?" his words were punctuated by his chattering teeth.Potter shifted in his sleep-addled state, and succeeded only in pulling away from Severus.

At a loss for words Severus eased the boy closer, coiling his arms more securely around Potter to warm his back, pressing his warm cheek against Potter's icy one, pulling the quilt more snuggly around them both. 

The boy still shook, his thin frame wracked with shudders. Severus thought about the spells Poppy might administer if magic could help the boy: she would have wrapped him in a magically warmed blanket - Severus's own body heat would achieve a similar effect. But there were other spells: spells to warm his blood, ones to warm the fluid that surrounded his organs, more to warm the air that passed into his lungs. Severus eased a knee between Potter's thighs - knowing there were major blood vessels there and praying to the gods he did not believe in that that might just be enough to start warming the boy's blood. Despite the movement, Potter barely stirred this time, his body trembling every so often, his heart rate sluggish against Severus's chest.  
Panic clawing its way up Severus's throat, he tilted the boy’s head back, easeed open his jaw, and pressed his open mouth to Potter's, releasing a gentle puff of warmed air that Harry hungrily inhaled. He wasn't breathing for the boy, he was trying to warm the air in Potter's lungs. He exhaled again, and Potter responded like a man starved. He gulped in the air, clawing his way closer, more responsive than he’d been in hours. The urgency eventually abated and, as sleep claimed Potter once more, he relaxed into Severus's warmth. 

XXX 

It was nearly half an hour later that Potter stirred. “Hurts” he croaked. He made an odd distressed noise in the back of his throat “T’all hurts”. Potter swallowed heavily, and shifted uncomfortably and, glancing down, Severus noted that Harry’s eyes glistened with unshed tears - likely from the pain from his allergic reaction. Severus reached over the boy for the vial of pain reliever on the bedside table. Potter pulled a face and gagged at the tase, but swallowed every drop. Minutes after pouring the dose down Potter’s throat, he relaxed once more into Severus’s hold .Just when Severus thought the boy had fallen asleep - an assumption made because of the boy's prolonged stillness, the boy broke the silence.  
“S’nice. Mmmhi-like hugs” The boy slurred, sounding pleased.  
“Shh Potter” Severus tried to dissuade the boy’s confused babbling “Sleep now.”  
Potter looked up at the sound of Severus’s voice, but his gaze was unfocused. “You’re noh Mrs Wea-sley” confusion laced the boy’s tone. Potter blinked confusedly for a moment and then “Am-mi dead?” the boy’s sounds blended together in a sleepy slur.  
“No, you’re unfortunately alive.” Severus replied sardonically.  
There was a silent lapse, and Potters brow furrowed. "Yes. Alive." And then, after another lapse: "You shouldn't." Potter shifted his head in barely a movement, his eyes continuing in the trajectory of the movement a vague gesture of their twined bodies "Don’t let Dudley see. Doesn’ like when people’re nice. But you’ra ghost, and he doesn’t see those, hey?” Severus tried and failed to make sense of this nonsensical sentence, and then the boy spoke again. “Must be dead. Strange. Everything sreally strange.” and then in a sleepy, pleased hum: “Warm though. ‘Snice hey?" Potter's arms came around Severus' body. He seemed to tense after a moment.  
"I didn’t finish. Does uncle Vernon know? He won’t like that.” and then, edging on panicked “You won’t tell him, will you?”  
“No Potter.” Severus replied, feeling ill at ease over how addled Potter sounded “Just sleep.”  
"Should finish. He'll see. I don't like the cupboard." Potter tried to break free of Severus's grasp, but his attempts were feeble.  
"Shhhh Potter." Severus tried at calming Potter.  
"Have to finish. Please?" Potter's attempts had clearly exhausted him for they were becoming feebler, and his breathing laboured.  
Potter probably had as little understanding of what he was saying as Severus did so whatever Severus could say to placate the boy, he'd say it.

"It's alright Potter, I'll finish for you, alright? That's it, just rest." Severus soothed a hand over Potter's back in what he hoped was a calming motion.  
And finally, finally: “Mmmmmh” Potter responded, relaxing once more as his eyelids drooped shut. 

XXX

When consciousness came again, he knew only that he was warm. Strange for he shuddered intermittently - a violent shiver that belied how warm he currently felt. The pain however felt like a distant memory, his mouth tasting strongly of copper and vaguely like mint. 

The third time Harry Potter felt the pull of consciousness, he did not open his eyes - only allowed himself to feel. 

Confusion was a fog that pervaded his thoughts. It took many minutes to work out that he was lying face down, against someone’s chest, a heavy blanket drawn over his shoulders. He felt his body tremble as though cold.  
His hands, once curled in relaxation, turned so that his palms faced down, his fingers extending in a relaxed hold of the chest below him. 

Something about the experience registered as off. He tried to close his fist around what should be material, and found nothing to grasp.  
The body beneath him wasn't wearing a shirt.  
It was with a second dizzying twist of dawning realization that Harry recognised that he too was not wearing clothing.  
He was lying naked against the bare chest of another person. His legs too were bare. He could feel them acutely, tangled as they were with another pair of trousered limbs. 

He could feel the blanket against the bare skin of his buttocks, his heart rate accelerating in inexplicable fear at the sensation. 

The wirey hardness of the body below him definitively registered as male, and Harry kept his eyes tightly closed. Think, think… 

His detention. He hadn't finished his detention and Snape had punished him harshly.  
It was with sick dread that Harry recalled his own words “I'll do anything, sir.”.  
The professor had obliged him, for Harry could barely even recall the pain any longer. But now - now he was lying, unclothed in Severus Snape’s arms. Was this what the man wanted in return? And if Harry refused? Would he be made to drink the potion once more? The mere thought horrified him. Every punishment he had ever received, paled in comparison to that one. 

What would the man expect of him when he woke? He felt fingers sweeping hair from his forehead, lingering there for a few moments too long, before carding gently through his hair. He fought back a shudder. He had a vague memory of lips on his own, and his dreadful certainty of what the man wanted, heightened. 

His options then: refuse and potentially be made to drink the potion. Feign sleep for as long as possible. But then when he woke? When he woke, he would have to do something - willingly or otherwise. Was it not better to appease than to risk angering this man further? And would Harry even know what the man wanted? 

XXX 

Potter shifted for the first time in almost two hours, his breathing still in the slow, even cadence of sleep. His hands were flexing and extending in measured movements, as though to rest open on Severus’s chest. Severus pressed the back of his hand on Potter's forehead, sweeping the boy's hair aside to do so, and felt his temperature. Without premeditation, he carded potion-stained fingers through sweat dampened hair. Potter shifted, his breathing changing, quickening. 

The boy was waking. 

“How are you feeling?”

It seemed as though Potter were trying to lift his head, but couldn't manage the movement. He tilted his head instead, shifting the position of his body with heavy limbs, his cheek sliding across Severus’s chest, until the icy tip of his nose nudged against Severus’s neck.  
Severus hissed at the cold. 

Potter shifted again, and Severus felt a slight press of lips against his neck.  
At first it seemed nothing more than an accidental brush, but they became gradually more sure - the boy's lips moving clumsily against his skin. Potter was kissing him, his hands had come to rest at the nape of Severus’s neck, fingers tangling in the greasy strands there.

Thinking this to be delirium once more, Severus pushed at Potter's shoulder, intent on moving him away. Potter's head came off Severus’s own chest, his eyes blearily opened to take in the potions master “Sir” he whispered “sorry. ‘lldo better” he slurred. No blush rose in his cheeks - his face was stark white with what Severus guessed to be fear. He cast his eyes downwards, his throat bobbing in a heavy swallow. The boy must have realised his error so Severus released the boy's shoulder. Potter pushed himself up on a wobbly arm, his other hand moved up once more - teasing timidly at Severus’s hair. The next poorly coordinated press of lips came just shy of Severus' mouth.  
Severus rolled the boy over, rage filling him. He pinned the boy's arms to the bed and hissed “What do you think you're playing at boy?”. 

Potter flinched violently, pressing himself fearfully into the mattress, a light tremble passing through him. “I did it wrong?” the boy whispered hoarsely.  
“Please sir, I'll do as you ask. I won't fight.” this was spoken in barely more than a whisper, the rim of the inside of his lips stained darkly with his own dried blood. 

Severus' grip on the boy's wrists tightened, “Explain yourself!” he spat venomously. The boy's eyes - Lily's eyes - wide and fearful, met Severus's for the first time.  
It wasn't intentioned - the legilimency. It was as though he were being drawn into the boys thoughts by an irresistible force. Or at least that was what he would tell Dumbledore when asked why he broke the law by violating the boy's mind. 

Severus was the boy. He felt the torturous horror of the boy's pain, and saw himself extending a half empty vial, to press it against the boy’s -his- lips. He felt the child’s fear as he shook his head in refusal, his lips pressed closed. 

He was on the floor, writhing and screaming, and then he was on his stomach, his forehead pressed to the floor, promising ‘anything’ in return for an end to the pain. 

He was lying, vulnerably naked against an equally unclothed chest, fearing that he had a promise to keep. Fearing that if the promise was not kept, the pain would return. 

And then he was himself again, kneeling over the boy, his grip on Potter's wrists so tight, it was bruising.  
Severus released Harry's wrists as though branded and pulled away from him.

Potter recoiled, scooting backwards, away from Severus, his hands raised protectively in front of his face, his knees drawing up, so that he lay on his side in the approximation of a ball. He heaved in rapid breaths, as he tried and failed at subtlety in soothing his bruised wrists. His teeth began to chatter violently, a tremor passing through him, the shivering now continuous rather than intermittent. Severus noticed that the sheet had slipped - the heavy duvet only covering his curled up lower half. 

Severus felt sick with guilt. Gods, he couldn’t have terrified the boy more even if he tried. “Potter-” he broke off. What could he possibly say to the boy?

Severus summoned Potter’s glasses. When he extended his arm to pass them to Potter, Potter recoiled. 

“Sorrysorrrysorrysorry” he whispered pleadingly.  
“It's alright. You're not in trouble.” he tried to sooth the boy. “You can put these on if you wish.” And then, because it suddenly became apparent that the boy might not be able to see what was being offered to him, Severus added “They’re your glasses.” And then he placed them next to Potter. 

When the glasses sat once more on Potter’s face, the boy looked down at himself… and made a choking noise. Severus thought for a moment what the boy must be thinking when seeing his skin, how the rash might appear to the boy. It likely only served to terrify him more. That was when Potter interrupted his musings, only to confirm Severus’s thoughts: “Where is my wand?” his voice was shook, but he jutted his jaw forwards in a show of confidence. “Please, give me my wand.” his voice now sounded thick, as though the boy were holding back tears, and his breathing was accelerating. Potter pulled at the quilt, bringing it to cover more of him. He was hyperventilating and when Severus moved closer the boy recoiled and actually shouted in his fright “My WAND! Where is my wand?”  
‘“Potter, please-” Severus kept his voice soft, and steady, his hands raised in placation “Breathe for me?” Potter, who was choking on his breaths, looked at Severus like he was insane. “Breathe Potter, come on.” Severus tried again “Slowly Potter? In and out. Like this.” Severus took a few slow, deep breaths, his eyes glued on Potter’s. Potter was far too panicked to actually hear Severus. He clutched the quilt as though it were a shield, and gasped for breath, twitching in his panic.  
Severus inched closer to Potter, hands still held out placatingly. When his hand met Potters arm, Potter flinched violently but Severus did not pull back. He came closer, all the while saying words intended to soothe. On his knees on the bed next to Potter, he wrapped the boy in a tight embrace, the quilt separating them, and began to rock him backwards and forwards. Potter flailed and kicked, pushing against the arms and quilt around him, desperately trying to escape. He managed to quite successfully knee Severus in the groin, and slam his elbow into Severus’s jaw, but Severus kept holding him, trying to ground him. Between gasping breaths, Potter let out a choked sob. Potter was not particularly strong, and definitely weakened from this day’s ordeal, so eventually, the flailing abated. Potter sobbed in earnest now, his body shuddering with the weight of them. All the while Severus rocked back and forth and back and forth, in steadily slowing movements, in time with his words and hushes “Breathe, breathe. Shhhhh. Breathe.”  
Miraculously, Harry’s breathing began to slow. He hiccoughed as his sobbing abated, and sagged in exhaustion, leaning against Severus more than pulling away. As he relaxed, another tremor passed through the boy, his teeth knocking together with audible clacks. “That’s it Potter.” Severus soothed.

When the boy had calmed sufficiently, Severus spoke again “I understand how frightened you are, but I promise, I’m not going to harm you.” He whispered to the boy. Potter stifled a hysterical, disbelieving laugh which Severus ignored.  
“Now, I am going to let you go, so that I can get you some clothes, and then, when I come back, I would like you to give me the opportunity to explain. Would that be acceptable to you?”  
There was a lapse filled by the sound of chattering teeth, and then, “Y-yes sir.” the boy responded

XXX

Harry did not reach for the trousers that the Professor laid on the bed. He watched the potions master warily. Was this a test? 

“I'll turn away. I won't look.” the man said, and to Harry's astonishment, the man turned his back. Cautiously Harry reached for the trousers and, with much effort, pulled them up, keeping his body hidden by the duvet. He was exhausted by the time they were at mid-thigh height, his muscles shaking with fatigue, so he flagged, his head flopping back in exhaustion. “Are you done?” Snape asked as he began to turn, “NO!” Harry responded in alarm, and then again, more calmly “No, sir.” Snape remained with his back to Harry, and Harry effortfully pulled the plaid, pyjama trousers the rest of the way up.  
As the trousers reached hip height, Harry noted that they had an unreasonably long row of buttons at the waist, rather than being elasticated like his muggle trousers.  
He stole a glance at Snape.  
The man's head was bowed, eyes closed, his jaw clenching and unclenching so that his muscles bulged. He was angry then, Harry guessed, as he tried fumblingly to fasten the row of buttons - but his fingers weren't cooperating. Harry felt bone weary and gave up the attempt quickly, too fearful of Snape to ask for help. Harry grew still next to Snape, out of breath from the exertion, his teeth still chattering uncontrollably.  
After moments of stillness, Harry thought it would be wise to let the man know “I’m done, sir.” he croaked.  
"May I sit on the bed?" the man asked, half turned toward Harry. So shocked by the unexpected request was Harry, that he stuttered a yes. 

The man sat. 

He scrubbed his face wearily with his hand, sighing loudly.

"Were you aware that you had an allergy to a combination of powdered fire crab shell and cinnamon" the man spoke conversationally. This was so at odds with everything that had come before that the sentence was entirely incomprehensible to Harry - not least because he was paralysed with fear. He didn't respond. 

The potions master sighed heavily and tried again. "Consider for a moment if you will, what you currently feel." Snape spoke next to him.  
Terrified, Harry's brain supplied. I feel terrified of you. Holding himself rigid with tension, wracked by the occasional shudder of cold, Harry didn't speak. As though responding to the shudder, Snape spoke once more: "Do you feel cold?" he spoke slowly, patronisingly.  
Freezingly, achingly cold, Harry realized then. It was like looking down to see you were bleeding, and only then realizing the pain.  
“Yes.” he croaked.  
But earlier, when he’d woken, his first thought had been his warmth. The warmth that had emanated from the body beneath his own. The heat that emanated off of Snape. An inkling of realisation dawned. 

"You were hypothermic when I came to collect you from your detention." Snape said. "For the sake of uneducated ingrates such as yourself, that means very cold, Potter. Dangerously cold. The potion I used to warm you happened to contain powdered fire crab shell and cinnamon to which, as I have mentioned, you happen to be allergic." Snape paused, but when Harry did not speak, he went on.  
"Magic - both ambient and internal - in combination with the ingredients to which you happen to be allergic, have been causing you to- well I’m not certain exactly. But as you saw from your skin a moment ago, it caused your skin to welt and blister. And caused you to hemorrhage internally.” At the furrow of Harry’s brow, the man elucidated further. “If you recall vomiting up your own blood? I am not yet certain if it was your stomach or your lungs bleeding internally. Perhaps both. It also caused your muscles to spasm. So it likely affected your nervous system. Regardless, your allergic reaction was fueled by magic, and I could not cast spells to warm you, so instead I was warming you.” And then, as if the point needed further explanation “With myself.”

"Oh" Harry said, in barely more than a whisper.  
"Oh indeed Mr Potter." the potions master drawled, "I could take you to the Hospital Wing. I'm sure Madam Pomfrey would oblige you. The threat of your demise is no longer so imminent that you could not be moved."

"My demise? It's not so serious as all that, is it?" Unbidden, Harry found his thoughts straying to how nice it felt to feel warm, and found himself, without intent, rolling onto his side, closer to the source of the warmth.

"Does bleeding internally not sound serious enough boy? How about the fact that your heart failed? Or perhaps I should tell you that you were colder than a corpse when I found you, so cold in fact that your own magic failed?” Harry cowered away from the man’s shouting. The man seemed to notice, for when he next spoke he was considerably calmer. “No Mr Potter. You most assuredly would have died. Due in large part to your idiocy." The last was a growl. “Your survival is actually not yet assured. I would need to continue to warm you.” Harry’s shudder underlined the truth of this statement. Harry, hesitantly, nodded. 

Snape moved slowly, as though to give Harry time to adjust to the closeness, stretching himself out next to Harry. “Would you prefer to have your back or your front to me?” he asked. “Back” Harry whispered, feeling awkward about asking for this. After moments of neither one moving, Severus said, rather patronisingly, “You would need to turn over.”  
Turning your back to an angry man seemed to Harry a rather stupid thing to do. But the thought of asking for the alternative after having requested this already made shame swell within Harry, so he rolled over, keeping his head facing Severus as he turned. When he could no longer see Snape, he kept his body tensed so that, should a blow fall, it would do less harm. The quilt was pulled back and cold air rushed in, but then warmth, delicious, wonderful warmth met his back as Professor Snape slotted himself behind Harry - his knees crooked to tessellate with Harry’s own, so that they touched from ankle to shoulder. And then an arm came around Harry’s torso, Snape’s hand coming to rest, open on Harry’s chest. “Alright?” the man asked, waiting Harry’s consenting nod before relaxing. It took a long time for the anxious hammering of Harry’s heart to slow.  
When Snape spoke behind him, the warmth of his breath rose goose flesh on Harry’s neck. "It's a slow progression towards reaching a state of hypothermia. Surely you, a wizard, would have the sense to warm yourself?" 

"I did warm myself!" Harry heard the indignant tone in his own voice, the sentence punctuated with a clatter of teeth as another shiver passed through him. 

"Did you not think to dry your clothing before warming it? Better yet, why didn't you go into the greenhouses."

And, when no response came, "I expect an answer Potter." 

"I didn't think I'd be allowed in the green houses until the job was done." he spoke in little more than a whisper. 

"Had I made that rule Potter? Had I ordered you to stay out, practically freeze yourself to death if you didn't complete the task I had set you?" 

No. A small voice in Harry's head spoke. But the Dursleys would. Had done in fact. All his life, any work assigned by his relatives was not to be stopped until it was completed. A job in the garden or the garage always meant staying out until the job was done. It happened infrequently that Harry could not complete his work before night fell, and he'd slept outside. 

Harry tucked his icy hands into his armpits and shivered. Snape curled himself forward until once more his chest articulated with Harry's back.

“And what of the pain? Why did you not tell me that you were in pain when I gave you the potion?” 

Harry didn't respond. 

"Potter." the potions master growled. 

"I-I don't understand sir." 

"And what is it that your puerile mind failed to comprehend Potter?" 

"It was a punishment." this was met with expectant silence "And, well, punishments are supposed to hurt, aren't they?" the downward inflection made it sound more of a statement than a question. 

"Punishments are supposed to hu- Potter, when have you ever known a Hogwarts professor to use physical harm as a means of punishment?

Harry thought about the scar etched on his hand, tucked as it was in his armpit and said nothing. His back was feeling comfortably warmed but his front was not faring so well. His nose was numb with the cold so he extricated his unscarred hand to rub warmth back into his nose.  
“You can turn over if you wish.” Snape spoke in apparent response to Harry’s attempts to warm himself.  
Harry started turning almost before the sentence was finished, so desperate was he for warmth, and managed to turn his head thwacking the potions master’s nose. “Ah- gah. Potter! Slowly!” the man admonished clutching his nose which, gratifyingly, had not started bleeding. Harry flinched backwards, but when no retribution was forthcoming, he began to relax. Snape reached for him, meeting Harry’s eyes with a question in his own eyes. Harry nodded, and Snape, eased himself closer, arms coiling around Harry. But before Harry could settle, Snape pulled back, extricating himself. “May I?” He put slight upward pressure on the inside of Harry’s top knee. “What?” Harry’s voice rose a pitch in tinny nervousness. “I want to put my knee between yours. For warmth” the man clarified. Harry nodded, and when Professor Snape came close once more, they fit together as closely as they had when Harry had awoken last. 

Exhaustion weighed on Harry, his eyelids falling closed now that he felt warm once more. He pressed his face, his nose icy, into a warm shoulder, and hummed in relief at the warmth. 

“Rest now. We’ll talk when you wake.” that honey smooth voice said, almost against Harry’s ear, as sleep engulfed him.

XXX

Severus lay, wrapped in Potter, with more questions about the boy than he’d had before the boy woke. He lay in the flickering firelight composing a list in his mind of questions that needed answering. Trying to piece together the puzzle that was Potter.

For one, Potter had never actually answered when Severus had asked if he would prefer to go to Pomfrey.  
He also needed to know precisely what symptoms Potter was experiencing as a result of the thermal draught so that he could brew potions to treat whatever ailed the boy. 

Then there were the boy’s mumblings - they had been so nonsensical that he couldn’t quite remember the details. It was like trying to plot the coordinates of a dream. Perhaps, once this ordeal was over, he could use the headmaster’s pensieve to sort through what Potter had said, and piece it back together. 

And what on earth had the boy meant by “punishments are supposed to hurt?” Potter had neatly sidestepped that particular question.

The boy’s old, yellowed bruising was another puzzle that needed solving - as was his undernourishment. It wasn’t just his vertebrae that protruded, it was his sparrow-thin ribs and clavicles, his hollowed belly, and gaunt cheeks. 

Which reminded Severus: the boy would need food once he woke. And nutrient potions. And something to relieve the pain. Yes. Food and potions would be the first order of business when the boy woke. The questions could wait just a little while longer.  
Severus adjusted himself back into contact with Potter’s steadily warming body, and allowed himself to be pulled into a fitful sleep, filled with images of a grey skinned, blue lipped Potter. So light was the boy, that he swept in the howling gusts of a blizzard, always just out of Severus’ reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Severus's response to Harry's panic attack was terrible. Making someone feel trapped, or touching them while they are hyperventilating without their consent is a terrible thing to do and will likely get both of you hurt. But Severus is not always the brightest spark and he was likely going off Harry's positive response to being held while he slept.

**Author's Note:**

> To anyone suffering during the COVID 19 pandemic, I am incredibly sorry. I hope this can bring you a small amount of comfort.  
> Updates will be slow from here on out because I am returning to work after prolonged self-isolation
> 
> Please let me know what you think? Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


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